The Demise of a Poet
Time slowly ticks tick, ticking away.
Sitting at the table staring at a blank piece of paper.
Pen in hand tapping tap, tapping on the table.
It echoes as it resonates thru the house.
His inspiration washed away like seashells on a beach.
Eyes red as the tears fall it wets the paper that was once considered his canvas.
Creativity gives way to frustration.
Liquor becomes his aspiration.
Nothing else matters as he drinks the pain away.
Laying down bottle in hand.
Giving up on his one true love.
Feeling a pain in his chest he holds his heart his eyes shutter and close.
The bottle falls.
His body goes limp.
An eerie sounds looms acroos the house.
The time slowly continues to tick, tick away
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